Nobody Answered
by JubileeKnight
Summary: A young bootblack spends the longest night of his life on the Brooklyn docks. Rated for implied violence and disturbing themes.


_A/N: Any characters you recognize are not mine. They are either the property of Disney or the original individuals (Spot Conlonon whom the movie characters were based. I am making no money off of this story, so please do not sue me._

 **Nobody Answered**

Lower East Side, November 1895

The police arrived several hours after the screaming stopped. By that time, there was really no need for them. The worst of it was over. Kaylie was past help, and her husband was equally past any punishment the law could have meted out. The younger officer took one look around the apartment and backed out into the hall to be sick.

"Easy, Reynolds," his partner sympathized, patting him on the shoulder when he returned. "You see a lot of this working around these kinds of people." He raised his voice. "Anyone here?"

Nobody answered, and carefully, the officers began cleaning up and carrying away the bodies. And in a corner, a small boy shivered and whimpered at what he'd seen.

"Papa? Mama?"

Nobody answered.

Lower East Side, July 1896

"Nickel fer a shine!" Benjamin called. "Nickel fer a shine! While ya wait!"

He wiped his face, smearing black polish across his forehead, and sighed. None of the businessmen were paying him the least attention and his lungs were getting tired. "Nickel for a shine!" Giving up, he stuffed his brush in one pocket and the precious can of shoe polish in the other. It had taken him weeks of scrimping to earn enough to buy that can, but it was his livelihood now.

It was obvious he wasn't going to be able to do anything here. He stopped in a bakery. "Got any a' me fav'rites left, Petey?" he asked the baker's son. Pete manned the counter when his father was especially busy in the kitchen.

"Last one," the older boy grinned, wrapping a cheese roll in a bit of paper. "Your lucky day. That's two cents."

Some lucky day. Benjamin patted his pockets. "I'm a liddle short, Petey . . ."

"C'mon, Ben, ya know I can't-"

He located two pennies and a green marble, but his searching turned up nothing more. "Ya know it's slow, Petey. Ain't had a customer all day. Dat's all I'se got."

"Pop'd whip me." Pete sighed, ringing up the sale. "There's somethin' big goin' on over on Coney Island taday. Ya can try there."

A walk to Brooklyn at this time of day? If there was nothing else... "T'anks fer da tip, Petey." He walked out of the bakery, munching on the roll. "Penny fer a shine! Jist one cent!" Business was improvisation. "Penny fer a shine!"

Nobody answered.

###

Brooklyn

Whatever Pete had meant when he described the gathering in Brooklyn, it was over by the time Benjamin reached Coney Island. He tried around anyway – no point in walking across the city for nothing – but had no more luck there than he'd had in Manhattan. Worse, the sun was hanging dangerously low in the sky. He _never_ slept in Brooklyn. He had very good reasons for not sleeping in Brooklyn. Most of them were tall, territorial and had faces and fists that strongly resembled rocks.

And here came two of them now. The boys stopped less than a foot in front of him. "Heya. I don't t'ink we'se met."

"Benjamin," he replied hurriedly. "Nice ta meet'cha. I'se kinda in a hurry, so-"

"Goin' somewhere?"

He took a deep breath. "Just back home. It's late, ya know. Me folks start gettin' worried."

"He's gotta go home to his mommy," one of them said over his head.

This didn't look good.

Benjamin wet his lips. "Ya know how parents is . . ." he laughed nervously.

"Dunno. Can't remember mine." The other giant grinned.

First rule of the streets: when outnumbered, out-muscled, or both, run.

####

It was a bruised and scraped, but otherwise unharmed eight year old who found refuge under a pier sometime around ten o'clock. Benjamin caught his breath and tuned out the skitterings from around him. He _really_ hated Brooklyn. He searched the shadows for a piece of canvas, a newspaper, anything to keep off the light, but steady breeze. It wasn't cold out of the wind. He wasn't asking for much...

He floated on the edge of dreams. _"Mama... Papa... wake up. Come back. Papa... Mama..."_

Nobody answered.

####

He awoke to the rattle of a carriage stopping next to the pier. The moon was obscured by clouds, but it did not appear to have moved far while he slept. "Three hundred dollars," stated a cultured voice without preamble.

"All of it?" replied a second man. His voice was rougher, almost gravelly, but equally businesslike.

"All of it," assured the first, the slightest edge to his voice.

Benjamin wet his lips nervously. This was all he needed! Who knew what shady dealings were going on above his head or when the men would discover him.

"Open it, then," the rough voice ordered.

"The money is there," the first man said, the edge still in his voice.

"So show it to me."

 _Please_ , Benjamin prayed. _Just let 'em go away without seein' me..._ At that moment, something ran over his hand. He yelped, jerked it away and jumped to his feet. _Please, let 'em not've hoid dat..._ But he could already hear scrambling on the banks as one or both of the men came to investigate. p

Ransacking his memory for some sins he could have committed to make him deserve this, Benjamin headed in the only direction he could be sure wouldn't mean running straight into the arms of someone with an inclination to silence eavesdroppers – straight into the water.

He wasn't a wonderful swimmer – his technique involved a great deal of thrashing and not a lot of progress.

"It's a boy," he heard.

"Well, get rid of it."

"A _child_?"

"Do ya want it tawkin'?"

"I wouldn't-"

Benjamin screamed.

"Someone will hear him!"

"Not if ya shut him up now!"

He heard splashing behind him. At least one of the men had finally decided to dispense with words and silence him. Benjamin screamed again, and redoubled his efforts, not sure what direction he was heading in. _Please, somebody come!_ But nobody answered. He felt something brush his leg and kicked out at it.

His pursuer cursed and sputtered as Benjamin's' foot connected with something soft. "Liddle brat!"

"I didn't hear nothin'. Please, I won't tell nobody."

There was nothing in reply, but more curses.

One of Benjamin's flailing arms hit something solid and scratchy. He'd somehow reached the neighboring pier. Even more miraculously, a rope dangled within his reach. He grabbed for the lifeline and found it was more like a net. Praying it was strong enough to hold his weight, he pulled himself up.

The net began to slide. He was forced to swing himself onto the pier. He barely made it before the net, and the empty crates it had been draped over, tumbled into the water. A yelp and several waterlogged curses told him that the crates had landed on his attacker. He ran, hoping the man was well entangled in the net.

Benjamin didn't stop running until his legs and chest were burning with the effort. Only then, did he collapse on a doorstep and breathe a prayer of thanks. Almost before he could get the words out, he was asleep.

###

He awoke, shivering, a few hours later. A voice had forced him out of his dreams. "Kid! Are ya aw right?"

Three older boys towered over him. There didn't seem to be room to run. Benjamin swallowed hard. "Shoe shine?" he said. It came out as a squeak, and he tried again. "Black yer boots." That didn't sound much better, and he decided to stop talking.

The tallest of the boys guffawed. "Yeah, I need to get spiffed up for my meetin' wit da mayor dis afternoon."

"Lay off him, Cards," said another of the boys. Benjamin recognized this voice, containing a note of irritation, as the one which had awakened him.

"Aw, come on, Cowboy," Cards said. "Da kid's gotta be dim. Offerin' ta black me boots–"

"He's scared, is what he is," Cowboy said. "An' yer makin' it worse."

"So I'll just be goin', then," said Benjamin.

Nobody answered him. Cards had cocked his bowler hat and was looming threateningly over Cowboy. "Get off it, Kelly, I'm jus–"

The third boy spoke, his mild voice containing an edge that stopped Benjamin's discreet attempt at flight. "Cards. Ya got papes ta sell."

After a pause, Cards said, "Right, Spot. See ya." He gave Cowboy a sour look and walk off down the street. The remaining boys turned their attention back to Benjamin.

It was over. There was only one 'Spot' in Brooklyn that he knew of: Spot Conlon, the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, the best fighter under eighteen on either side of the East River, and unlikely to appreciate strangers from New York camped on his doorstep.

Benjamin gambled on bravado. "So, uh," he said, "what's da rent?"

"He's got spunk, Jacky-boy," said Spot, presumably to Cowboy, although he didn't take his eyes from Benjamin. "Six cents a night," he added.

Unfortunately, Benjamin was as broke as he'd been yesterday morning. He felt his pockets rather hopelessly until his eyes fell on the slingshot tucked into the Spot's trousers, and he remembered the marble. "Ya need shooters?" he asked hopefully, offering it to the Brooklyn newsboy.

Spot took the marble and held it up, turning it in his fingers. "Not bad." Then he tossed it back. "Next time, kid."

Benjamin stifled a sigh of amazed relief. He seemed to be free to go.

"Wait up, kid." Or not. Cowboy's voice stopped him before he'd gone a few feet. The older boy turned back for a moment. "Be seein' ya, Spot," he said, then caught up to Benjamin. "Ya ain't from Brooklyn, are ya?" Cowboy said, matter-of-factly. Without waiting for an answer, he grinned. "I live in New York. I'll take ya back."

###

As they walked back, Cowboy said, "Cards is full a' hot air. Don't let him worry ya."

Benjamin didn't plan on returning to Brooklyn to be bothered by Cards one way or another. Cowboy seemed to see the thought in his face. "So, ya shine shoes, eh?"

"Most of da time," said Benjamin. He reached for the bag that contained his brushes and blacking. "I got me own supplies, or–" His hands came up empty. "I did." The bag was most likely on the bottom of the river by now.

"Tough luck," said Cowboy. They walked across the bridge in silence, and then the bigger boy asked, "Can ya read?"

"What?" said Benjamin.

"If ya can read, ya can sell papes," said Cowboy.

###

Lower East Side

They arrived at Newspaper Row when the evening edition was being distributed. Boys and girls were loudly discussing their day's success and the evening's headlines.

"Hey, hey!" The clamor lessened at Cowboy's shout. "Kay, fellas-" He slapped Benjamin's shoulder. "Dis is me new pal Boots. He's stayin' wit us from now on. Objections?"

Nobody answered.

 **The End**

A/N: The five boroughs were consolidated into one city in 1898. At the setting of this story, Brooklyn was not considered part of New York City. Also, in my head, Cards is the big blond with the bowler hat in the background when Jack, David and Boots are talking to Spot in the movie.


End file.
